


A Morning Interlude

by rikujo (helphiddlestoned)



Series: 25 Days of Fic [13]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 25 Days of Fic, Christmas Fluff, Day 13: Peppermint, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Cuddles, the rating is overly cautious but better safe than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helphiddlestoned/pseuds/rikujo
Summary: Christmas morning doesn’t necessarily mean an end to all bickering, but there are more pleasant things to think about when tangled in bed with Francis.





	A Morning Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Day 13! This is where you're all going to start noticing the heavy FrUk bias in this challenge. Hope you enjoy!

The first thing Arthur knows when he wakes is that there’s an irritating chill sweeping across his skin, pricking at him when he should feel nothing but the fiercely warm comfort of his pile of blankets. But there is a hole in his carefully constructed den when he turns over and he scowls at the point where the covers have been folded back on the other side of the bed.

From his en-suite, there is the sound of water slowly gurgling into the drain.

Francis, clearly, has woken up first.

It takes barely a minute for the tap to shut off but Arthur’s eyes fall heavily closed before the bathroom door opens and there are soft footfalls on the carpet. He lets his tired eyes rest as Francis slips back into bed beside him, given how late they were up the night before.

“Why were you up so early?” he mumbles as the bed shifts, twitching half way to a wince when Francis’s unreasonably cold feet tangle with his own under the covers.

“I was stealing some of your mouthwash. My teeth felt simply dreadful before.” Francis explains. “But it’s Christmas Day, there are many reasons to get up, no?”

“That’s your own fault for eating all those marzipan fruits before bed.” Arthur grouses, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry, though. You opened your presents yesterday. Impatient sod.” he adds in a grumbling mutter.

“It’s _tradition_ for me to do presents on Christmas Eve.” Francis reminds him, his arms wrapping around Arthur’s waist. At least they’re warm. “It is your own silly fault for forcing yourself to wait.”

“No, it’s sensible. What’s the bloody point of Christmas Day if you don’t do all the Christmas activities on it?” he argues, opening one sleepy eye again to glance back at Francis.

Francis nuzzles in against his shoulder. “Hm, well perhaps if you are going to be grumpy I’ll keep your present to myself.”

This would niggle Arthur more if he didn’t have the perfect comeback.

“I presume that means you don’t want yours then.”

Try as he might _every single year,_ Francis has yet to succeed in making Arthur hand over his gift on Christmas Eve. On some years this had even led to a ridiculous game of hide and seek around the house, but Arthur prides himself on not being out-smarted. Though this year hasn’t included such antics, Arthur still has the present carefully tucked away in a draw. Which is just as well, because Francis gives a mournful sigh and Arthur doesn’t even need to look back to know the deliberately wounded look that will be on his face.

“You really are too cruel, Arthur.”

“It is not cruel to _give_ you a present—and why are we still talking about this? Why are we still talking at all?”

“Hm, would you rather we did something else?” Francis says, and the arms around Arthur’s waist tighten, pulling him closer until his back is flush to Francis’s chest. “I’m open to suggestions.” he purrs, the words curling soft into Arthur’s ear.

Arthur fully intends on keeping his tone perfectly cool, on telling Francis that, _yes_ , there is something he’d like to do and it is _sleep_ , but then Francis flattens one of his palms across his stomach, fingers brushing just so across bare skin, and the flat dismissal dies on his tongue.

Instead a hum, quiet but contented enough to be revealing, lifts from his throat. Francis’s lips flutter against his neck in response—soft, coaxing, and Arthur finds himself leaning back into him.

“I imagine you already have something in mind.” he murmurs, shifting ever so slightly to begin turning, but he stills feels Francis smile against his skin before he rolls over.

His fingers ghost down Francis’s side as he settles again, his eyes on Francis’s smooth smile for the first time that morning, and Francis lifts a hand in turn to trace a thumb along his jaw.

“I have a few thoughts, perhaps.” Francis agrees softly, already leaning in, and Arthur meets him halfway.

His lips are soft, parting easily against Arthur’s as they draw in close, and Arthur brushes a hand up his neck to tangle in golden strands. Their legs intertwining beneath the covers, a soft sound leaves Arthur’s throat as Francis’s fingers run down his sides. It’s only too easy to sink into.

Francis pushes the covers aside, destroying Arthur’s nice warm bubble, and for a second he shivers despite the warm fingered touches on his skin.

But it hardly matters, because it’s Christmas morning, and Francis tastes like peppermint.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated! You can also come and bother me at anglaisaph on tumblr ❤


End file.
